


Love and Hate

by mistysinkat



Series: Prompts and Drabbles [10]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: M/M, Sullen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-03
Updated: 2015-11-03
Packaged: 2018-04-29 17:12:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5135933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mistysinkat/pseuds/mistysinkat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Samson can’t reconcile his feelings for Cullen. He couldn’t back in Kirkwall, and he can’t now that he’s dying from red lyrium withdrawal in Skyhold’s dungeon. </p>
<p>(There be foul language ahead, just fyi. I should also note that I fiddled with canon regarding the timing and reason for Cullen's scar.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Hate

He woke in a cell.

He felt the chill in his bones first, followed by the press of a stone floor against his body. His armor was gone. They’d taken that from him as they’d taken everything else. As they would take all.

Bleary eyes, ringed with lines and the dark blush of exhaustion, opened slowly, blinking against the dim light from the torches outside his cell.

PAIN.

Intense and terrifying, it wracked his frame. How long had it been since he’d last had the blue? How long until the tremors would take him?

“Piss on it,” Samson muttered through gritted teeth, “Maker take the lot of them to the Void.”

The deed had been done. Several times over, in fact, and they’d finally caught him. It seemed harsh that all of… this… was payment for passing a few moony love letters for a friend.

But then again, this was the Order under Meredith. Nothing had seemed right under her command. Everywhere he looked, the foundation was corrupting or corrupted. The whole structure crumbling into something he didn’t recognize.

This wasn’t the Order he’d joined in his youth. This wasn’t what he’d set to accomplish. Everything was wrong.

And then  _he’d_  come. All golden curls and sad, amber eyes and the need to fix what had been broken. He didn’t realize, not yet, how truly fucked things were in this Maker-forsaken hole. A place where even the smallest of kindnesses never seemed to go unpunished.

And hadn’t he hated that golden child when he arrived? The man was everything he’d wanted to be, once upon a time. Sure. Steadfast. Confident.

But hadn’t he admired him, even in that hate? The man who still held true, even after the shit he was dragged through after Kinloch. Shit that would have broken any man. Shit that stuck with you.

So he’d hounded “Meredith’s pet” incessantly. Part of him wanting to be close to that light. Part of him wanting to put it out for good. To break him. To make him as jaded as he was.

Nothing worked. The man was a rock, stubborn. Samson became trapped in his gravity, despite himself. The jabs, efforts to get a rise from the man, became softer and half-hearted. The arguments shifted from the nasty back-and-forth to discussions that lasted into the night. Discussions that had eventually turned into… more.

The man, no, by then he was Cullen, wasn’t he?  _Cullen_  had changed something in him he didn’t know needed changing. Had given him something he didn’t even know he was looking for. Hope was there again, long dormant but now alive and kicking.

Maybe that’s why he did it. Maybe that’s why he wanted to help. The hope that should have been dead and bleeding on the ground made him think he could be useful, even in such a small way.

Hope was replaced by anger. This was  _his_  fault. This was Cullen’s fault for making Samson think things could be better, even for just one fucking second.

“Samson?” a familiar voice called out from the dark, “Raleigh?”

He winced at hearing his given name. The anger surged, bitter on his tongue. How dare he come down here now.

Keys jangled, and the door to his cell opened with a creak. That honey voice was followed by golden eyes and golden hair. Eyes he’d looked into like a fucking puppy in love. Hair he’d once tangled his fingers in as he heard that voice crying his name into the dark.

“Raleigh?” he said again, softer, as those eyes ran over Samson’s body, cataloging every bruise, every hurt.

“I hear you, now sod off.”

Samson heard Cullen’s intake of breath before, “Maker’s breath, she’s really cut you off. You could die down here just waiting for trial…”

“Wouldn’t that be nice.”

Pain washed over Cullen’s face.

_Good. Let the bastard feel it._

“Raleigh, I’m so sorry. I had no idea it was you passing the letters…” Cullen started.

The grief on his perfect face… the emotion making his words tremble around the edges… Samson knew it was truth. He didn’t doubt the sincerity in his words or the feeling behind him.

He hated him for it. Even now, he wouldn’t bend, wouldn’t twist. Cullen refused to see the world for what it was, blindly following Meredith simply because she was in command.

He loved him for it. Even now, his will was resolute, certain. Cullen saw that the world was a mess, but still fought to make it right. His loyalty to Meredith was misguided, but waning.

Hate and love. Love and hate. It made Samson’s pounding head sing with pain. It made his hollow chest ache with heartbreak. He wanted to strangle him. He wanted to hold him close.

Cullen knelt then, face somber.

“Let me help you. She’ll listen. She means to have you executed, but I can sway her. I know it.”

Those eyes. Those fucking eyes! Eyes that had seen the world shitting all over everything, but still remained bright. Eyes that still held hope.

Hope was a farce. A cruel thing, held in front of men to keep them in chains. Fuck hope.

“No,” came Samson’s reply.

“But she’ll kill you…”

“I fucking said no, didn’t I? Or is your head so far up Meredith’s ass that you can’t hear me?”

“Raleigh, I can fix this, please…”

_Please. He fucking said please._

Samson’s mind filled with rage, painting the world red. He moved  before he even knew what was happening.

It was over in a second. One moment, Cullen’s face was there, full of worry and care. The next, Samson was standing over him, the chains that bound his hands together wrapped around one fist. Cullen stared up at him, wide-eyed and clutching at his mouth. A river of blood streamed from between his fingers.

And yet.

“I can fix this,” he mumbled through the pain, through the jagged tear in his lip. “I will fix this,” he repeated as he staggered out of the cell.

“Fuck you, Rutherford,” was all Samson could manage before his legs gave out and he hit the stone floor, body heaving from exhaustion, pain, and… emptiness.

—————————————-

He woke in a cell.

He felt the chill in his bones first, followed by the press of a stone floor against his body. His armor was gone. They’d taken that from him as they’d taken everything else. As they would take all.

Bleary eyes, ringed blood red and black, opened slowly, blinking against the light that poured into the broken dungeon.

PAIN.

Familiar and maddening, it wracked his frame. How long had it been since he’d last had the red? How long until his body would eat itself to make more?

“Piss on it,” he muttered through gritted teeth, “It hardly fucking matters, does it?”

The deed had been done. He’d thrown his lot in with the would-be god who promised the world. He’d found his own bit of hope after all. And this is where it got him.

Another jail cell. Another  _Order_  judging him from on high and casting him out like garbage.

Those same golden eyes though. That same golden hair, tamed a bit, but still his. That same honey voice, though now it was filled with venom.

He’d looked down on Samson, called him a traitor. Reviled him for following a madman.

_Cullen was never one for irony._

Samson laughed, a rasping sound, as he closed his eyes and waited for death to take him.

Keys jangled and the door to his cell opened.

“Raleigh.”

_No. Nononono. No. Not that voice. Not him. Not now._

Where was the venom? Where was the hate? He could stomach the hate. This softness, this softness would kill him quicker than the red ever could.

“Raleigh,” Cullen said again as he drew closer.

“I hear you, now sod off,” Samson said, despising the waver in his voice.

“I won’t. I’ve been through this. I can help… make it better. I can at least do that much,” Cullen’s own voice shook a bit as he knelt beside his shivering prisoner. He reached out and took Samson’s freezing, ragged hands into his own. Samson recoiled against the kindness, but Cullen didn’t let go.   

Samson looked into that face, then, eyes searching for the lie, for any sign of deception. There was none. Cullen’s face was older, worn around the edges and a bit more haunted, but still good. Still honest.

Looking into those eyes hurt worse than the withdrawal coursing through his veins.

“Why the sudden shift… commander?”

“I… my words were not worthy. I was angry. I’ve  _been_  angry. For a long time after Kirkwall,” Cullen’s voice drifted for a moment. “For a long time after you. I still… I always… ”

He didn’t want to hear the words that followed. He couldn’t. He couldn’t possibly. It was wrong. It was ridiculous.

It was  _Cullen_.

Steadfast. Sure. Certain. Loyal.

Everything Samson had wanted to be.

Everything Samson had wanted to destroy.

Hate and love. Love and hate. A neverending loop of agony twisting and coiling in his gut.

His mind spiralled into chaos. He moved before he even knew what was happening.

One moment, he was shaking with misery, full of bitterness and pain. The next, he was melting as he watched his own fingertips brush over the scar that stood as a testament to how much of a fool he’d been.

“You don’t have to die,” Cullen whispered fiercely, “I can fix this.”

“No,” Samson returned.

“I can,” Cullen insisted.

“No one can. Not even you,” Samson chuckled weakly.

“I will fix it,” Cullen’s tone was sure. Convincing.

There it was again. That hope. That fluttering bird that made Samson think he could fly, too, untethered from all the shit, all the awful, horrible  _shit_  he’d been dealt. Even now. Even now, he had hope.

Love and hate. Hate and love.

“Fuck you, Rutherford,” Samson replied as he leaned in and brushed those scarred lips with his own. 

**Author's Note:**

> This was for a prompt I got over at Tumblr. Mauerbauertraurigkeit: The inexplicable urge to push people away, even close friends you really like. 
> 
> I've never written Sullen before. Definitely have never written Samson... yet for some reason, I made it entirely his point of view. Go figure. I hope this was ok.


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